


The Grass is Always Greener (Or Not)

by rosewiththorns



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Detroit Red Wings, Gen, Inferiority complexes, Long-Distance Communication, Misunderstandings, NHL, New Beginnings, Replacements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 21:41:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4321785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosewiththorns/pseuds/rosewiththorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeff Blashill can't understand why Nik Kronwall isn't excited at the prospect of Mike Green signing with the Red Wings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Grass is Always Greener (Or Not)

**Author's Note:**

> This story is obviously set before Mike Green signs with the Red Wings. Enjoy.

“The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence.”— An almost cliched expression

 

The Grass is Always Greener (Or Not) 

Calling people who lived halfway around the world was harder than it sounded even if you didn’t use the two-tin-cans-tied-together-by-a-string method, Jeff Blashill reflected. Accounting for the time change was easier than microwaving popcorn—your cell phone could tell you what time it was in any major city across the globe before you could replace one breath with another in your lungs—but dealing with the fact that you couldn’t see the other person’s face to being to read the emotions written behind their eyes and that a decent chunk of the inflection in their tone always seemed to be drowned in the cables spanning the Atlantic made it even more challenging to discern what the individual on the far side of the line was thinking or feeling. Emoticons in texts might even have been more reliable, though less professional. 

This long-distance conversation with Nik Kronwall was shaping up like that. They’d breezed through the social niceties—weather (pleasant in both places); family (still alive and kicking); and how well Kronner’s off-season training was progressing—so now it was the moment of truth when Jeff had to transition into the real reason he had called. 

Scratching the nape of his neck, Jeff hoped that Kronner would react positively to the news he was about to impart, but he didn’t even really know how happy Kronner was about Jeff being hired to try to fill Mike’s skates. Like Hank and Pav, Kronner had been appropriately if quietly supportive of Detroit’s new coach, but a traitorous nag inside Jeff’s own skull pointed out sardonically that those three were a trio of some of the most professional leaders in pro sports, which meant they probably would have stood behind Ken Holland’s decision even if Ken’s brain was transfigured into a pumpkin and he appointed a basketball to coach the Red Wings. 

They would do their duty—Jeff knew that as surely as he did that Hank was a warrior, Pav was a wizard, and Kronner was a wrecking ball—but there was a difference between that and enthusiasm, although Jeff thought—or perhaps imagined in a delusion fueled by bind optimism—that the three of them in their reserved, measured fashions seemed excited about working with him next season. After all, there was a bond from Jeff’s time as an assistant coach with the Wings, so it wasn’t as if he were a complete question mark to them. 

Taking the plunge, Jeff commented, “You know, Kronner, Ken and I were thinking that it might be nice if you had some help on the backend next year.” 

“Yeah.” Kronner had inhaled sharply. Whether that was a good or bad sign, Jeff would need to employ a psychic detective to uncover. “That’s an idea. Who’d you have in mind, Blash?” 

“Mike Green is on the UFA market,” Jeff reminded him by way of a response. 

“Is he willing to come here?” asked Kronner, and Jeff could almost hear his eyebrows arch. 

“Ken’s made several offers.” Out of habit, Jeff shrugged even though he was well aware that Kronner couldn’t spot the gesture through the crackling cell phone any more than a deaf man could hear a concerto. “They’ve been received with interest.” 

“What if this ends like the Suter signing that wasn’t, Blash?” Kronner’s words were pinched. 

Pulling at a crease in his forehead in an attempt to iron it out since this was his first experience as head coach dealing with a Kronner who sounded as if someone had just pissed in his precious oatmeal, Jeff replied sternly, “Then we lose nothing by trying. That’s how unrestricted free agency works, Kronner. Now why don’t you tell me what’s really ticked you off?” 

“I’m not ticked off,” protested Kronner. Then, as if he could sense Jeff’s dubiousness through the phone line, he added, “Honestly, I just don’t want to get my hopes up that a big name will sing here only to be disappointed. After Nick hung up his skates, I really believed that Suter was going to come here, and he landed in Minnesota, obviously.” 

“This might not end up like that.” Jeff paused and then went on to address what he suspected might truly be bothering Kronner, “Listen. If Green does sign here, he’s not replacing you, so you can’t get that idea out of your head if it crossed your mind. You’d still be the best all-around defenseman on the roster. Green would just add another strong puck mover to the blueline, which this team needs because the offense was completely neutered in Game Seven without you.” 

“I should never have put myself in a position to get suspended.” Kronner spoke as heavily as a judge’s gavel falling after a pronounced sentence. “That was stupid and irresponsible.” 

“I wasn’t getting at that.” Figuring that Kronner’s suspension was a subject to be abandoned as rapidly as garbage at a dumpster, Jeff explained, “My point was that the Red Wings can’t win without you. If you’d been injured for any length of time over the past two seasons, the playoff streak might not still be alive. You’re indispensable to the team’s success, but it’s not fair that you should have to support the whole blue line yourself. You deserve to have somebody who can lighten your load the way Hank and Pav have Gus and Tats. Green can chip in, but you’ll still be the go-to-guy. Got it?” 

“Sure, Blash.” Kronner emitted a sigh that was as audible as if he were inches instead of a continent away. “I only want to be the go-to-guy if the team needs me to be that. Whatever the team needs me to be, I’ll be, whether that’s the go-to-guy or not.” 

Feeling somewhat guilty for assuming that Kronner’s ego had overcome even for an instant his devotion to his team, Jeff said firmly, “The Red Wings need you to be the go-to-guy, so you’d better be up to the task.” 

“I haven’t been since Nick retired.” Kronner’s harsh assessment suggested he were evaluating the lackluster performance of a stranger. “That’s a big reason why this team has started to slide down a cliff now that Nick isn’t here. I haven’t been able to replace him adequately.” 

“Taking over where a living legend who won seven Norris Trophies left off is practically Mission Impossible.” As he reassured Kronner, Jeff couldn’t help but wonder if he would feel similarly aggravated with his own efforts to replace Mike Babcock in a few months’ time. “I don’t think anyone could’ve handled it better than you, Kronner.” 

“Not even Suter?” The question, which must have been tormenting Kronner for a long time now, sounded as if it had been torn from his lips without his consent. 

“Definitely not Suter.” Jeff hoped that Kronner could hear his smile. “Suter didn’t even want to play for the Red Wings. How could someone who didn’t even want to be a Red Wing possibly be a fit successor for Nick Lidstrom?” 

“I hope Green does come to Detroit.” His moment of vulnerability fleeing faster than a fair-weather friend in a tornado, Kronner’s manner became crisp and matter-of-fact as a Michigan autumn morning. “Maybe together he and I can provide what Nick did single-handedly.”


End file.
